


Switch

by PepperPrints



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RE5 AU. "My best man... back in my control."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

**Author's Note:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: Jolt! This is another one of those tired "what if Jill and Chris switched places in RE5?" stories, because I wanted to write something purely indulgent. The title is a reference to three different things, because I like puns.
> 
> Warnings for mind control, non-consensual touching and dubious consent.
> 
> Special thanks to Vibgyor!

 

The home of Excella Gionne was predictably luxurious. Wesker was led inside by a flustering doorman, his cloaked companion following obediently at his heel. Wesker tipped his head up, admiring their surroundings as they were led into a very spacious study.

 

“If you'd just wait here,” the man urged, his voice wavering a little. Understandably, he seemed a little bit intimidated by his current company. “Miss Gionne will be with you in a moment.”

 

Wesker nodded his head, letting the man scurry away. He found himself scanning the room itself, the walls made of high bookshelves which would likely never be touched or read. Nevertheless, the collection was impressive. Wesker found himself occupied by that, while his company found interest in something else.

 

Wesker's thoughts were stilled when sound suddenly filled the room: one low note humming and dragging out. He turned his head and found Chris, cloaked and masked, standing by an old grand piano. Wesker hadn't noticed it in his initial glance around the room. Of course, it was likely considered just another piece of aesthetic furniture; he doubted it was ever played by anyone.

 

“Chris?” he inquired lowly. His 'transformation', as it were, was still in a delicate stage. It had taken a great deal of careful work to calm his rebellions. Several times, Chris would be entirely obedient, until one odd gesture or object would spur him into resisting again. Wesker wondered if that was happening again here, since such spontaneous acts were not in the carefully laid programming.

 

Chris didn't even seem to hear him. His gloved handed released the note, then hesitated for a moment before pressing down on it again, then following with a second. This motion was drawn out too, before Chris remembered what key came next. He repeated these three notes over and over, stilted and awkward, but he slowly became a little more fluid each time. Even clumsy as it was, Wesker could recognize the song.

 

Wesker approached him, and Chris didn't even seem to realize it until Wesker was right beside him. Clearly expecting some reprimand, Chris moved his hands away from the piano, but Wesker had no such intentions in mind. Instead, he took a seat, sweeping his coat back so he would not be sitting on it, Chris's masked face turned to him, his expression unreadable, and Wesker began to pick up where Chris left off. There was no sheet music here, which meant Chris had chosen it all on his own. Interesting. He started slow, just as Chris did, and he found the rhythm easily.

 

As his fingers moved across the keys, Chris moved closer. He was still standing, and was almost looming over Wesker now. Wesker didn't particularly mind it, though he was shocked when he felt Chris's hand brush through the hair at his nape, the contact light but lingering.

 

“Albert!” Excella's voice came from the opposite end of the room, shocked and pleased. “You play?”

 

Chris's touch withdrew immediately, and Wesker noted that with some significance, his own hand stilling. “An old talent from my youth,” he replied, and he rose up from the bench, moving to greet her properly.

 

Chris followed after him, and Excella took notice with a smirk. “I didn't think you needed a bodyguard,” she said, teasing and playful, and Wesker allowed a small smile to touch his lips. It must have indeed looked a little strange; Wesker himself was one step away from God, and yet he had still adopted a living shadow. The cloaked figure stayed obediently at Wesker's heel, and the masked face was bent, subservient.

 

Wesker remained amused, because Chris's presence was not for his protection; it was for his pleasure.

 

Telling Excella that would be a step backward in their negotiations, so Wesker kept the thought to himself. Excella had been so kind as to invite him to her estate, and while it was quite the remarkable bit of architecture, he did not plan on lingering for very long.

 

“It seems fair,” responded Wesker simply, gesturing to the two men who framed Excella, standing ready at either side of her. They looked more like thugs than proper soldiers, and it mattered little in the end. Even the most trained man could not stand against Wesker – proof of that was standing right behind him.

 

“Did you bring the research, like we agreed on?” Excella asked. She was power hungry too, and the trait was indeed admirable, but it would only take her so far. Wesker's plans were bigger than Tricell, and Excella would barely understand it.

 

Wesker gave a slight nod of his head, and he began to reach into his jacket to retrieve it, but one of Excella's men decided that he didn't like that very much.

 

“Hey!” he said sharply, and he moved as if to grab Wesker's arm, but Chris got there first.

 

The guard cried out as his arm was sharply twisted, the pain driving him to his knees. Chris stood over him, tall and demanding, and Wesker's eyes widened by a small fraction behind his sunglasses.

 

Interesting.

 

“Let him go,” said Wesker calmly, and the order was immediately obeyed. Chris returned to his place at Wesker's side, and Excella only looked amused.

 

“Miss Gionne?” her second guard asked nervously. He had raised his gun, and Chris's masked face turned towards him at the sign of threat.

 

“Oh, please,” Excella sighed, waving her hand. “Manners!” She gave them both a light, chastising slap, before she held her hand out to Wesker. “Albert, if you'd be so kind.”

 

Wesker smiled thinly, reaching inside of his coat again and he handed Excella a small compact disc. “You'll find this has everything that you require,” he told her. Excella smiled back and she pocketed it easily.

 

“Wonderful,” she said, “and can I tempt you to stay?”

 

“There is your half of the arrangement: a moment of privacy to access Tricell's research,” he reminded. “Then we will see.”

 

Wesker gave a slight glance back at Chris. “If it makes you more comfortable, I'll leave him with you.”

 

–

 

The device on his chest came with a constant, aching throb.

 

It had a rhythm, beating like a second heart, and it almost numbed his mind. His own will was still there; his mind was still his own, but he couldn't act on it. His body was polluted. Chris wanted to lash out, and he could not. His body felt sluggish, as if it was too exhausted to obey him – but all of his energy came in twice the strength when it was Wesker ordering him to act.

 

He didn't know what kind of screwed up entertainment Wesker got out of this. He remembered when they first woke him up, returning from near-death after the fall at the mansion, and Wesker had responded with such sick pleasure.

 

“ _My best man... back in my control.”_

 

Chris had resisted before, and the device on his chest acted orderly. The pain that came from it was excruciating. It was like an electric shock, jolting through his whole body hard enough to stop his heart, and there would be no fighting that.

 

“You interest me,” Excella said coyly. She tilted her head, looking him up and down. “Following him like a dog... There is something unique about you too, isn't there? You're not exactly like him... but perhaps another virus?” 

 

Chris remained silent. He was, admittedly, grateful for the mask. It made his struggle for control less obvious, since he knew his frustration remained written clearly in his expression, but his face hardly seemed like his own anymore. The testing and the constant injections of the drug had taken their toll on his body. His skin was paled and his hair had lost its color. For a moment, he thought his hair might fall out altogether, but the dosage had been changed since then. Now, they considered it perfect, and Chris had a hard time arguing when he could no longer resist its influence.

 

They had gone through months of careful testing, and Chris had lost track of time. Wesker tried to draw Chris out every so often, while the drug was still being tested, and it never ended well. Chris would break control and he'd rebel, and then he would be sent back to testing.

 

This was the longest successful 'mission' Chris had been on since the fall at the Spencer mansion.

 

“Well?” pressed Excella, smiling. “Can you speak?”

 

Chris was quiet for a moment longer before he responded, his voice muffled from behind the mask. “Sometimes.”

 

Excella gave a small laugh at that. She was in good humor, and she walked around him in a small circle. “What are you, I wonder,” she mused. “Why so much... mystery?” 

 

Chris wished he knew. The answer was a bit obvious: sooner or later, someone might recognize Chris Redfield – especially if the BSAA came after Wesker again. The mask hid his face and the cloak disguised the shape of his body, making him impossible to identify; that was the conclusion Chris drew, anyway.

 

He wanted to say a great deal of things to her, but he could not. He could have told her that she was working with a man who would surely kill her in the end. He could tell her which parts of Wesker's plans were lies. He tried, and his jaw felt locked. He did not know how Wesker did it, but so much of Chris's control was denied to him.

 

“Can I take this off?” Excella asked, raising a hand towards his mask, and Chris wasn't sure of the answer. Sometimes, when Chris could not do something himself, a third party certainly could. Other times, his body was trained to stop such things. Excella might be able to succeed, or Chris might lash out on a programmed instinct to stop her.

 

He'd have to see.

 

The answer seemed to be the former. Excella pulled the mask down with one hand, and the other drew his hood back. Chris squinted a little bit against the light of the room; the red lenses of the mask helped with an oversensitivity – which was result of the drug.

 

“My, aren't you handsome,” Excella praised, her fingers brushing through pale hair. “Why hide such a face?”

 

If only Chris were free to answer.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

Wesker had returned, and Chris felt a stronger throb against his chest. “I am, actually,” replied Excella, smiling widely, idly toying with the mask in her hands. “Where did you find such an interesting bodyguard? Mine could use replacing.”

 

Wesker shared her smile, the expression making Chris tense. “I fear he's one of a kind,” he said, holding his hand out for the mask. “If you'd please.”

 

Reluctantly handing it back, Excella frowned. “Leaving so soon?” she asked, sounding deeply disappointed.

 

“I'm afraid we must,” Wesker responded, placing the mask back on Chris's face, then drawing up the hood. The motions were oddly attentive, and about as gentle as Wesker could be. Chris wanted to lash out whenever Wesker came this close, and the device on his chest pounded in sharp reprimand, stilling him. It didn't jolt him yet, but he knew if he pressed, it certainly would. “I will be in contact.”

 

Wesker walked away, and Chris followed without prompting, his feet moving with a will all of their own – no, it was Wesker's will, if he wanted to get technical.

 

“Goodbye,” replied Excella coyly, and Chris still didn't have command of his mouth.

 

–

 

“What do you think of her?”

 

It was the first thing that Wesker had said since they returned, and Chris was still silent. “Go on,” he coaxed, shrugging out of his jacket. “You can speak.”

 

Chris's masked face lowered, and his response was quiet. “Gullible,” was his response, and it made Wesker chuckle lowly.

 

“Now, that is brash,” chided Wesker. “You were fooled as well, weren't you? Once upon a time?”

 

He saw Chris's body tense. The reaction was slight, but Wesker had come to know it well: this happened when Chris was fighting the drug in his body with particular force. It never came to anything, of course, but Chris did still try.

 

“Come here,” he coaxed, and there was a short delay, but Chris did oblige him. “You've been rather obedient today.”

 

This was, surprisingly, the longest duration that Chris had spent being pliant to the drug. It seemed that they had perfected its dosage. Taking Chris with him was always risky before, given that he could snap from his control at any moment, but today he was calm – almost subdued.

 

Wesker wondered how far that went. He intended to test it, which was why he brought Chris back into his room.

 

Wesker reached up to pull the mask away, dragging the hood back. Chris kept his head bent, submissive, and Wesker felt heat curl in his abdomen as he set the mask aside. The disguise was necessary, but Chris still looked like a very different man without it. The drug made him pale, killed the color in his hair, and his eyes seemed sharper, more alert – something more animal.

 

“Touch me,” Wesker commanded, his voice low and inviting, and he saw those eyes narrow in defiance. Chris's expression was pinched, the displeasure obvious on his face, but his hands moved all the same. He pressed his palms low on Wesker's stomach, and they slowly moved upward. Wesker shivered at the sensation, and he himself press forward against Chris's hands.

 

“Take my glasses off,” he instructed, which Chris obliged much easier than the previous order – likely because it was much less suggestive. Wesker smiled as he continued. “Put them down now. I wouldn't want –“

 

Wesker didn't get the chance to finish. Chris displayed the raw power that the drug had given him, tightening his hand around the sunglasses until they shattered, and then he loosened his fingers, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

 

“They're down,” replied Chris boldly, and Wesker's eyes widened.

 

It appeared he would have to be very specific in his orders. Chris could not harm Wesker, of course; that was a strict level of the programming. He could, however, rebel in other ways.

 

Wesker stepped away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, where he watched Chris. “Remove your cloak,” he told him. “Then come undress me.”

 

Chris was stiff and still for a moment – resisting – before he obliged Wesker's command. The cloak was dropped, laying in a dark pool behind Chris, leaving only the bodysuit from underneath it. Chris approached Wesker in slow steps, and Wesker could see the anger in his expression. He knelt next to the bed, in front of Wesker, and Wesker noted that with a small surprise. He hadn't ordered Chris to kneel. It was perhaps a choice born out of simplicity, since it was easier for him to remove his boots like this, but that seemed like a stretch.

 

Wesker hadn't asked Chris to assault Excella's bodyguard either; that had been all his own, and it had been almost protective.

 

Chris unzipped Wesker's boots and pulled them off, tossing them aside with little grace. Wesker narrowed his eyes at that, but he did not object. “My gloves next,” Wesker instructed, holding one hand out. When Chris obliged, Wesker offered the opposite hand. “Now my shirt.”

 

Chris had to lean up a little to do that. His gloved hands unfastening the clasp at Wesker's collar, then reaching for the zipper, dragging it down slowly. That done, he reached up, pulling the shirt off of Wesker's shoulders and dropping it over the side of the bed.

 

Wesker exhaled deeply. He rarely indulged in this sort of thing, mostly for a lack of a desirable partner to do so with. Most people left Wesker incredibly uninspired on even the simplest interaction, much less something that deeply intimate. Chris, however, had always been _incredibly_ desirable, but also very out of reach. That was different now: Chris was utterly pliant to him; Chris couldn't deny him.

 

That thought lingered persistently in the forefront of Wesker's mind as Chris undid his pants. For all of the time it had been since he had done this, and for all the presumed 'tension' that must have been in him, his body was remarkably unresponsive – which became very obvious as Chris pulled his pants down, letting them pool around his ankles.

 

Hm. Wesker's lips thinned, and he reached down, burying his fingers into Chris's pale hair. He may have just required a little more encouragement. Wesker wasn't easily riled; he did not think this was a negative trait. “Kiss it,” he told Chris lowly.

 

Chris's jaw tightened, and he glared up at Wesker, his eyes full of defiance, but he could not hold out resistance. His gloved hands pressed to the insides of Wesker's thighs, urging them apart, and Wesker shivered at the feel of the rough material on his bare skin.

 

Chris bent his head, his lips pressing against the head of his flaccid cock, and Wesker inhaled sharply. His fingers tightened in Chris's hair, and he arched his hips to urge him forward, but the sensation still felt oddly muted.

 

“Keep going,” Wesker murmured, and Chris reluctantly obeyed. His lips parted, letting his warm, wet tongue slide along the length of him. Wesker's eyes fluttered, and he let out a quiet gasp, guiding Chris by the grip in his hair and other quietly spoken commands.

 

“Open your mouth,” Wesker ordered, which made Chris visibly tense, but he followed this as obediently as any command. Chris parted his lips and Wesker guided up down as his hips arched up, burying himself into the slick heat of Chris's mouth.

 

The control that the drug had on Chris was extraordinary. He could not speak out of turn, but he did make a quiet noise now, his nose pressed against the soft curls at the base of Wesker's cock. Wesker made a sound of his own, quiet and satisfied, as he felt himself stiffening inside Chris's mouth. He rocked his hips, stroking Chris's hair gently. “Ah...”

 

Despite the obvious tension in his body, Chris was very good at this. He was pliant, taking him deep and sucking him softly. His tongue traced the underside, and he didn't fight it when Wesker moved his hips. He groaned softly, his fingers smoothing out Chris's short, messy hair as he moved with him. Chris was quiet, unresisting, and even shuddered when Wesker's thumb brushed against his ear.

 

As good as it felt, Wesker wanted much more from Chris, and he pulled him off. “That's enough,” he said, his fingers sliding along Chris's now damp lips. “Now, come on the bed with me.”

 

Making a show of scowling first, Chris climbed up next to Wesker. “Lay back,” Wesker coaxed and he followed after him when Chris did as he was told, settling on his back. Chris wasn't flushed, but his breaths were short, which might have been exertion rather than pleasure. The bodysuit was incredibly form-fitting, so it wasn't as if Chris could hide his reactions. He was responding to this, whether he liked it or not.

 

“Let me see you,” Wesker said, his fingers moving to the zipper at Chris's neck. He pulled it down his chest, revealing the brightly glowing device that controlled his actions. The light betrayed just how much Chris was resisting, for all the good it achieved.

 

Wesker smiled, and he bent his head, pressing his lips to the device. Chris scowled and he turned his head away, which stole Wesker's good humor. “I'd have you look at me, Chris,” he said, and the device pulsed brightly as Chris attempted to fight it. It was futile, and Chris did look at him, but the fury was still burning in his eyes.

 

Better. Wesker began to peel away the suit, baring Chris to his waist. In terms of obvious anatomy, Chris seemed to be much more muscular than Wesker, but appearances were deceiving. Chris was undoubtedly stronger than he used to be, since the drug increased his agility and strength, which made him incredibly powerful, yet he was still nowhere near Wesker.

 

A part of him had always admired Chris's skills. He had been one of Wesker's best men, and he was one of the few who dared to challenge Wesker, despite knowing how he was hopelessly outmatched. Chris was so persistent, and that strength had been so captivating.

 

And he belonged to Wesker now – which should have been nothing but pleasing, and yet he found his attention wavering, his arousal weakening again.

 

Wesker sought it out again, running his hands over Chris's exposed body. He kissed down his chest, up his neck, and his hands traced every inch of him as Chris lay pliant and submissive, but it did nothing for him.

 

Hn.

 

Wesker exhaled against Chris's throat. This wasn't what he wanted – he did want Chris, but not like this, because this wasn't really Chris. It have as just as well been any other writhing body against his own, since Chris's will was so restrained. There was nothing of him here.

 

Wesker reached out on an impulse, finding the control for the device alongside his discarded jacket. This was impulsive, and very ill-advised, but he found himself compelled. He returned to Chris, straddling his thighs, and he saw how Chris's eyes widened up at him.

 

Wesker pressed one button, and then Chris's hands were around his throat.

 

Wesker had underestimated him; he hadn't thought the reaction would be so immediate. He only gave Chris an inch, and that was all it took for the control to snap. Wesker choked and Chris had him on his back in an instant, pinning him down and tightening his hands around his throat. Wesker gave a strangled snarl, and he fought from beneath him. The control was lost in his struggle, falling off the edge of the bed and far out of reach.

 

“Kill you,” snapped Chris, “son of a bitch...!”

 

Chris was strong, Wesker made him that way, but Wesker was still stronger. He thrashed, and it took all of Chris's power to hold him down. Chris had to use his entire body to pin Wesker, pressing flush up against him – and that was how Wesker realized that Chris was still hard.

 

Even with Chris's hands around his throat, Wesker managed to smirk. He changed his tactic suddenly, and he wrapped his legs around Chris, rolling his hips up against him. The contact made Chris's entire body buckle against his own, and the sound that Chris made was utterly wanton. Desperate.

 

“Don't,” Chris hissed, one hand holding tight on Wesker's throat while the other tried to push his legs away. The motion was costly, since two of Wesker's hands could easily remove one of Chris's, pulling his hand away from his throat. “Fuck you...!”

 

Wesker smirked and he leaned up, sliding his tongue across Chris's lips. “ _Yes_.” There was just one moment after that, where he saw Chris's eyes widen, before Chris acted with sudden swiftness.

 

Chris moved so quickly that it was dizzying. Wesker was thrown onto his front, and he didn't fight it. Chris pressed down against him, all hard muscle and heat, and spit-slicked fingers pressed up between his thighs with sudden insistence.

 

“Chris –“ Wesker started, and his voice broke into a low groan before he had a chance to finish. Chris was rough, pressing deep and spreading him with sharp impatience, but it was a genuine surprise to him that Chris would even attempt preparation at all. Wesker was made incredibly durable by the virus, and his body healed, so the pain was precious little in reality, but the shock of it remained the same.

 

Chris moved his fingers deep, hard, and he bit down on Wesker's shoulder in a mixture of rage and lust. Wesker could feel his skin break, and he gasped out. He knew the wound would heal, but for an instant he wished it wouldn't. Having Chris mark him sounded incredibly enticing.

 

Wesker gave a ragged moan and bucked his hips, trying to adjust, but Chris did not even offer the opportunity. Chris drew his fingers back quickly, and Wesker could hear him spit into his palm. Knowing what was coming now, his eyes fluttered shut, and he inhaled sharply when he felt Chris press against him.

 

Every bit of Chris's anger was obvious in his actions. He moved harshly, and he held nothing back. He bucked his hips with utter abandon, burying himself inside Wesker with one rough thrust. The pain was immediate, sharp and stinging, and it robbed Wesker of his voice. His lips parted for a cry that didn't come, and it wasn't until Chris moved again that the sound burst out of him, vocal and needy.

 

“Chris,” he repeated, his jaw clenching as his hands tightened against the sheets. “Hnh – anh!”

 

Chris started to find a rhythm, slowly moving deeper and deeper, until he was buried inside of Wesker to the hilt. Chris had only pulled the bodysuit down low enough to bare himself, and Wesker could feel the zipper scratch against the back of his thighs, shuddering with sensation. His body was bending under Chris, and it was too good to think of resisting.

 

Chris was making noise too, his own sounds of pleasure low and thick with lust. One hand held Wesker's hip, and the other buried in his hair, keeping him pinned down and submissive. Wesker didn't fight the hold Chris had on him, and he could not deny that while Chris's mindless obedience gave him nothing, he was _painfully_ hard the moment Chris took control of him.

 

It was almost intoxicating.

 

Wesker reached down, stroking himself with an unsteady hand, and he thought Chris might reprimand him when he noticed, but all he heard was a quiet curse, and Chris began to move harder. There was strength that no ordinary human could possess, fueling him as he used Wesker's body underneath his own, driving into him over and over. Wesker's eyes slipped shut and he succumbed to the rhythm of their fucking, moving back on Chris as best he could while he stroked himself.

 

Chris did not hold back in any regard. He was strong and he showed it in every motion, the power of his thrusts jolting Wesker's body underneath his own. Chris filled him up, straining and stretching, and Wesker felt dizzied by it. He arched, trying to mold himself back against Chris's body and take him deeper. What Chris was doing seemed to be too much, and yet Wesker could not get enough of him.

 

“You like this,” groaned Chris thickly, announcing what was clearly obvious, though he still sounded disbelieving.

 

“Yes,” breathed Wesker faintly, his tongue wetting his lips as he panted softly. “Yes, Chris...!”

 

Chris was sinking against him. Wesker could feel the heat of his body coming down against his own, his cheek pressing against Wesker's back. “God,” he breathed, sounding distant and hazy as he moved into him. “Wesker...”

 

Wesker was short of breath, his legs beginning to shake as he quickened the pace of his hand to match Chris's unyielding thrusts. His fingers were getting slick with precum, easing his strokes, and he felt the shuddering spread down to his bones. He could not take much more of this.

 

“Chris,” he moaned quietly, trying to forewarn, and he found himself being grabbed suddenly. Chris dragged him back, shifting so he was sitting. He held Wesker in his lap, back to chest, as he drove up into him.

 

Wesker's eyes snapped open and a startled cry broke from his throat. The new angle changed the pressure inside of him, and Chris had taken hold of his cock, stroking him with a rough, callused hand. Wesker grabbed tight on Chris's arms, bucking back on him and moaning, and he succumbed, coming with a softly spoken mantra of Chris's name, staining Chris's fingers.

 

Even with Wesker spent, Chris did not slow down. If anything, he grew harsher, and Wesker moaned weakly. Nothing else seemed to exist to him now beyond the stretch of Chris filling him, the rhythm of his thrusts sliding in and out of him, and the feel of Chris's panting breaths against the back of his neck.

 

Chris cursed when he came, burying his face against Wesker's shoulder and shaking wildly. He fell forward, as if the very last of his strength had been exerted, and he slumped against the bed with Wesker still held tight in his arms.

 

–

 

When Chris woke up, he was still himself.

 

Wesker was still sleeping, and Chris didn't even pause to think about his dignity or how much of a mess he'd made the night before. He had forced his wobbling legs to follow his commands – it had been so long since they listened to his commands, and he'd be damned if a little exertion robbed him of that – and he got up. He climbed off the edge of the bed, rummaging gracelessly through Wesker's discarded clothing. The control was here somewhere. The switch. If he found it, then he would be his own master again. None of this. No more mask. No more drug. No more Wesker.

 

“It's not there.”

 

Chris glanced, finding Wesker sitting up in bed. He looked tired, which was something Chris thought Wesker was immune to. He seemed shaky still, and his hair was disheveled – it was a good look for him.

 

“It's here,” he continued, and a small turn of his hand showed the device. Chris felt his shoulders tense. He must have been seriously exhausted if Wesker had been able to sneak out of bed and back in again without his notice.

 

“I would like this to be easy,” continued Wesker, glancing down at the control in his hand. “I would prefer it if you did not fight.”

 

Chris scoffed a little bit, and he straightened himself up. “You already know how to make that happen,” he pointed out.

 

Wesker made a thoughtful sound. “True,” he confessed, “but I had a puzzling realization.”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes, and Wesker continued. “Should things continue this way, you would bore me,” explained Wesker flatly. “Which is rather against the point of this entire procedure.”

 

With that, Wesker threw the control at him, which startled Chris so much that he nearly dropped it. “A mindless slave is just that: mindless. I have little desire for an empty shell.” Wesker fell back against the bed, making himself comfortable. “The device will become active again in an hour – that is a routine failsafe. However, if you behave, I'll extend your time allowed with your free will.”

 

Chris paused and he narrowed his eyes. It took him a second, but he figured it out: Wesker liked having Chris with him, following his orders, but he didn't like forcing it. He wanted Chris to choose it – which was not very damn likely.

 

But it was something. He could work with that.

 

“Tell me, Chris,” said Wesker suddenly. “Why did you attack Excella's guard?”

 

The question startled him. Chris lifted his head, looking at Wesker in suspicion. “Why?”

 

“It's not in your programming,” replied Wesker simply. “That's why.”

 

Chris hesitated, and he looked at Wesker skeptically. Why had he done that? He thought it was unconscious, and it seemed to be the natural reaction when it came from someone trying to touch Wesker. He didn't _want_ anyone else touching him. He had felt... he wasn't sure what he felt. Protective? No, that wasn't it that. Possessiveness sounded more accurate.

 

That reaction had been entirely his. He owned that – and that revealed a hell of a lot more than it should have. It wasn't the first time either. Chris remembered the way he touched out when Wesker played piano, his fingers brushing through the soft strands of his hair...

 

Wesker opened his eyes again, glancing over at Chris expectantly. “Well?”

 

Chris felt his shoulders tighten and he came back to bed entirely of his own free will. Wesker was smiling, leaning back against the sheets, and Chris scowled at him for it.

 

“Fuck you,” he muttered, and Wesker laughed quietly.

 

“Whenever you like.”


End file.
